Hallelujah - A Lament In Three Parts
by Maribor
Summary: One romance. One woman. Three baffled kings composing Hallelujah. **Third Chapter has now been fixed. Apologies for the HTML weirdness**
1. It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Baby I have been here before

I know this room, I've walked this floor

I used to live alone before I knew you

I've seen your flag on the marble arch

Love is not a victory march

 **It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah**

She was gone now.

And he was ashamed at how he'd nearly recoiled at her touch.

Especially when now he would have gladly cradled her ashes.

In a way, he had known. Somehow...

Everyone who spent enough of their life traveling through the universe started to know the smell of Time. It wasn't something you got just by aging and having the world age around you. No, you cultivated it by dashing from era to era, year to year, planet to planet. It wasn't that he didn't like the way humans or other beings who lived very, very linear lifelines smelled. But there was nothing quite like the scent of Time. Anyone who stayed with him long enough eventually wore it. Any being who has mastered time travel had it hanging about them. He loved it. It was wonderful and familiar and reminded him of the very best things and people on Gallifrey.

It was lovely.

And she had been bathed in it.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so scared.

He met each of her questions with a question of his own. He pulled away, he pulled back, he dawdled. He found her presumption frustratingly unnerving. He found the fact that she knew him when he didn't know her infuriating and terrifying. He never minded hurtling towards the future. That was what he wanted, what he always wanted. But the idea of the future coming at him. Streaking towards him at breakneck speed, all knowing, all seeing and carrying that dreadful book. Well, that was too much.

That diary with a color and a pattern so familiar, too familiar. He didn't notice it right away and he could only reason now, after it was all over that he didn't want to notice it. He had spent so much of his childhood gazing up at his mother's hands as she read him stories and fairy tales from a book that was just that color and with just that pattern. It was nearly identical though the contents were far different. In retrospect, he wondered had she chosen it because of some late night tale he'd told her when he was feeling sentimental? Had he given it to her?

In retrospect, he wondered had she chosen it because of some late night tale he'd told her when he was feeling sentimental? Had he given it to her?

Then there was the screwdriver, his screwdriver, so much his that it was nearly a part of him and there she was...holding it. It was used and worn and it looked as though it had helped to get her out of countless scrapes. He hadn't given his screwdriver to anyone, not ever, not Arkytior, not Rose.

"I'm going to be someone you trust completely."

He'd wanted to laugh but something about her presence held him fast to the spot, stopping his mouth.

There was no one he trusted completely. He loved completely, exhaustingly so. But he never trusted completely. Not anyone. Not ever. Not because he was a cynic or thought that betrayal was inevitable. But the tide of the universe was constantly changing and rolling. People didn't listen. They didn't follow his lead. They didn't just obey. That could lead to mistakes and mishaps and acting in what they thought was their own best interest or worse yet, his. And that could sometimes lead to betrayal. He didn't blame them. They were doing the best they could. But he didn't trust them.

And the idea of trusting this human woman, much less completely, was ludicrous.

He'd been spared the horror of watching his wife die, his first wife. He hadn't known that was a debt he owed the universe. An outstanding bill that he would one day have to bring current. But it was, and now it had been time to pay for that one small mercy.

She knew his name. His real name. His only name. And there was only one time he would tell someone his name. Only one time he could. Not at his wedding, not on his deathbed, not under any sort of compunction. Just one time, at the naming ceremony of his child. At one of the last holy rites that he held sacred. That ceremony, at that moment holding his newborn, his wife at his side.

A child. A child. She'd given him a child.

This was his wife and she was here one moment, and consumed in flames the next.

He had owed it to her not to look away but he did anyway. He listened as her heart was burned to cinder and he tells himself he couldn't watch because of the blinding light, but it was a wanting to comfort and be comforted and they sat in intimate silence together in the safety of the TARDIS. He was happy for her company, a sudden swell of nausea hitting him as he imagined having lost them both.

Donna hovered wanting to comfort and be comforted and they sat in intimate silence together in the safety of the TARDIS. He was happy for her company, a sudden swell of nausea hitting him as he imagined having lost them both. Eventually, they broke apart, each wanting to go to their own space to grieve in private.

Yes, he had "saved" her. But the triumph he felt in that moment soured as the hours went on. "Saved" her as thought waves and electrical impulse patterns whizzing around a fabricated universe? A flea circus. A pantomime. Was that something to be proud of? Was that the best the "real" him could manage in God knew how many years and how many regenerations hence?

If so...it was pathetic.

He didn't sleep often. He didn't need to.

He wept even less often than that...whether he needed to or not.

He let his mind dip in and out of memories that never were or perhaps were yet to be.

For some reason, the simple thought that he had never seen her in the sunlight, but only the dim artificial glare of the Library made his hearts ache.

Some people, he thought, were meant to be in sunlight. What did her face look like at sunrise?

He imagined the feel of the stiff robes of deep scarlet, the rigid collars, the words, so familiar. Those he said alone. Those he and River would speak together.

Then the giving of the name; first hers, then his, then together they would name their child.

But he couldn't allow himself to swim for long in that memory because it threatened to swamp and drown him, leaving him paralyzed under rolling waves of emotion. He willed himself out of it and lay there on his bed, red-eyed and silent.

If this was to ever happen, it wouldn't happen for him. This was her first time seeing his face meaning these were not to be his memories. That was not his life. This belonged to those who would come after him. Later Doctor. Future Doctor. The stab of envy he felt made him inhale sharply.

He hoped that whoever was fortunate enough to hold her in their arms in this bed appreciated it and her. Then again, knowing what was to come, how could they not?

As time would pass, there were so many truths he could draw from this day, this one terrible day but two stood out.

The first being that everything he loves eventually burns.

The second, that the Ood had told him this would happen and vain creature that he was he'd taken the message to be about him and only him.

Fool.

They had spoken plain and true

They told him that his Song would end.

And so it had.


	2. And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

_There was a time you let me know_

 _What's really going on below_

 _But now you never show it to me, do you?_

 _And remember when I moved in you_

 _The holy dove was moving too_

 _ **And every breath we drew was Hallelujah**_

She was here now, at his side.

She was breathing softly.

He thought she was asleep but he was never sure. He used to think she did this to tease him. To wait until the last moment just when he was on the verge of saying something, _revealing_ something, _whispering_ something he might instantly regret, to open her eyes.

"Yes, sweetie?" She'd say with a smile. He'd start a bit while she remained as calm and implacable as a sphynx.

"You were holding your breath! Pretending to be asleep!" He'd accuse. She would laugh and then he would laugh and whatever he had very nearly said was forgotten.

Except it wasn't really forgotten and more than the idea that she was playing about with him the idea that she didn't _want_ to hear it bothered him the most. When he thought about it, that is. He tried not to.

She never seemed to want to hear his secrets as badly as he wanted to hear hers.

After a few years he decided she wasn't playing with him at all, rather, she was tempting him. Lying there in bed, curled next to him, a portrait of relaxation and ease. A warm jewel with a center of fire. An ancient idol fashioned from a cool stone that felt pleasant and smooth and decadent no matter where you placed your hand. And he did place his hands. She'd awakened something in him. A lusty and unapologetic need to possess her.

Sex had always been a _can_ , never a _must_. But he felt she had changed things. River Song had split him wide open, reached inside and called forth old echoes and memories and buried needs that had long ago been given the rights of extreme unction. He felt she had resurrected him and his body thanked her, his lips thanked her, his tongue, his fingertips, his hips thanked her. But beyond all that, beyond the ecstasy of their copulation, he felt she had also resurrected his hearts. How had she known? How did she always know?

But these were all wrong... just as they were all right.

"You only think you're questioning the sphinx," he told himself. "It's the sphinx who's questioning you."

But still, more years passed and brought with them more quiet nights, more intimate knowledge of her body and her mind and he chastised himself at the distance he had put between them.

Every metaphor was stone, unapproachable stone, and River, his River was not made of stone.

She was warm, pliable flesh that called out for his lips and his arms. She was everything he craved and wanted and didn't deserve. He'd never needed to shut out the noise of the universe before her. But now he relished pulling her away to some quiet pocket of the world, locking the door, drawing the shades, if you will, and letting all of existence filter down to only the two of them. He alone wanted to have her. And he didn't want to share her with anything, not even the starlight.

And still this was limited and selfish, still this was him being his foolish, thoughtless, fatuous self. Because she was not an experience or an adventure to be possessed. She was a whole being, through and through.

Why was it so hard to remember that she was not created of him or for him? She was not from his rib and did not spring fully formed from his head as the old myths went.

She was her own and belonged only to herself.

What was strange was that the closer he drew the more he felt her pulling away. Only by degrees, mind you, but those moments gnawed at him. Moments when he was looking at her, watching moonlight thread through her hair, watching her shine from within where he would promise her anything and mean it too. Where he would confess, all of it, everything to her, every secret, every moment, every page of his life because she was his wife, because their spirits and flesh and souls were wedded across this and a dozen lifetimes. Where he was finally ready to lay himself bare...and she would stop him, with a lark, a fancy, a joke, a finger pressed to his lips.

He didn't know why.

Sometimes he did wonder if the same flash of the graveyard he saw in her eyes she saw in his. To live forever is to be a creature that cannot be possessed. To be essentially immortal doesn't somehow make you _more_ alive but less. To be a constant puts you on the same level as an ocean, the soil, a rock. Existing only because it knows nothing else to do. What was the vacuum of perpetuity but another kind of death?

Was he as dead to her as she was to him? Was it all a bit too danse macabre?

He didn't know and he was far too afraid to ask.

She was a language and he was frequently overestimating his fluency.

If there was a way to digest River Song that didn't have to do with metaphor he had yet to find it.

Why did it take him so long to learn? Why was he moving so slow when she was moving so rapidly away from him?

There were times he wanted to weep when he thought of how many years he had spent misunderstanding and mistrusting her.

Would she let herself be unraveled before their time was up?

He promised her Darillum never intending to deliver. He didn't mean to dangle it before her but rather before the universe itself. A giant flashing 'bugger off' sign that said; "I control this. I bring the tide and I keep it at bay. I call forth the storm. I decide. I hold the River."

Like a whisper, Time Lord Victorious flitted about on the outskirts of his psyche. But then he was always there...hushed but present.

Eventually, he fell so deeply and irrevocably in love with her that he began to mourn her though she was still there.

This had, of course, happened before though never quite this all encompassing. Anytime he began to have strong feelings for one of the mayfly species he felt his life dragged to the boneyard. That was where they danced and lived and loved and played. Humans were always a few steps from their graves as he saw it and none more so than his River.

And how their words are reversed now in his head. How he can hear that they've traded lines so clearly, so loudly sometimes he worries she can hear it too.

"I'll suffer if I have to kill you." He imagined himself saying to her. Because truly taking her to Darillum would be the tipping point, solidifying the fact that he was complicit in her murder.

"More than every living thing in the universe, Sweetie?" She would reply in his mind. "Because that's what would happen, perhaps is happening. You can only stand as a roadblock to the inevitable for so long before there comes a price to pay."

He wanted life and life and more life with her. In any and all ways possible.

For his part he took no precautions when they made love. It was shamefully careless and yet he felt no shame about it. He suspected, however, that she had her own methods. They must have been good ones too considering Gallifreyan potency. Still, even under the threat of rewritten time, he knew a child would come. He just knew it. But he didn't know when.

And now, at this moment he hears her voice in his mind again.

" _Doctor, would you suffer more than every living thing in the universe if you had to let me go?"_

" _Yes._ " He answers in his head.

And "Yes." He says aloud and she stirs at his side.

"Doctor?" She asks sleepily and he realizes she hadn't been faking.

"I'm here." He says quietly.

She reaches for his hand, pulling it across her midsection, the gesture silently saying, 'Please don't go.'

He tightens his grip around her waist, tugging her close in reply, silently replying 'Just promise me the same.'

There were times he did weep when he thought of the truth that their clock was winding down.

He clung to her as he clung to life itself, fiercely and selfishly. He still hadn't learned how to love River Song unselfishly.

He hadn't learned how to love River Song without mourning her at the same time.


	3. With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much

I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch

I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you

And even though

It all went wrong

I'll stand before the Lord of Song

 **With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah**

She was nearly gone now.

The swift and terrible dawn was coming to Darillum at last.

"No, no tears!" She had declared. "You told me two decades ago this wasn't necessarily the end. So...don't treat it like it is."

The tears were welling up. They'd learned to flow a good deal more freely in her presence...at least relatively speaking.

"None of this means I'm finding it easy to say goodbye." She admitted.

Ah. He thought. Yet another full circle. A poetic sort of beauty he supposed. Ugly and true.

"If it's up to me, there's only one way I'll accept it. If you love me..." Love. A word so often felt but still, even now, so rarely said by him. How many times through the years had he let it sprinkle his speech. Not more than a handful, surely. "...say it like you're coming back."

"If I love you." She repeated with a chuckle. She kissed him. "Well, then. See you around, Doctor."

"Till the next time, my River Song."

She'd smiled and worried her bottom lip and for the first time, in all the times she'd left him he never saw reluctance.

"You'll see me again." He assured her. But she was too smart not to catch the meaning of what he didn't say.

They didn't stay on Darillum for all those years. That wasn't part of the deal. It was to be their dark paradise, not their prison. They traveled, oh how they traveled, as he'd always wanted to, with reckless abandon, breakneck speed and barely a breath in between. He'd never quite seen River embrace her true half-Gallifreyan nature. Rather, he thought he had but all these experiences corrected him. She was faster, smarter and stronger than he had ever imagined. He'd asked her once why she had hidden this from him, all she could do, all she could really do. Her answer was simple, "You had to grow up." After a pause, she added. "I suppose so did I."

One day, one extraordinarily quiet day where the TARDIS almost refused to show him anything interesting they were sitting in their home on Darilium. He'd left the ship in a snit and she'd finally been able to calm him down with a cuppa.

"You'll need to drag out those old robes." She'd said smoothly.

"How's that?" He'd asked.

"I doubt they've had an airing since Charlie played dress-up. Am I right?"

"I've no idea what you're on about, River." He replied in confusion.

"Your Prydonian robes. One for you and one for me. Will the baby need something special?" She asked with a twinkle in her eye.

He was silent. Completely silent because, though a Time Lord, he had suddenly lost all track and understanding of time.

"Has it gotten through yet?" She teased. "My goodness, I know you're old but you haven't gotten senile on me, have you?"

He rushed over suddenly and got down on his knees before her, gazing up at her nearly too frightened to hope.

"Are you...?"

"We are." She replied with a smile. "Happy?"

"Happy is a terribly poor word to substitute for how I feel."

Those tears. Was that the first time they'd arrived? He was hard pressed to remember now. But he did recall resting his head in her lap for a moment and closing his eyes. He remembered imagining that the universe was a fine and lovely place with just enough beauty and excitement. That it had it's fair share of danger, but for their child only that false danger you feel on scary rides at the amusement park. There for a moment but then gone leaving you adrenaline filled and excited and no worse for wear. That was the universe he wished and wanted for their-

"It's going to be a girl." She supplied.

"How do you know?"

"I just do." She said confidently as she stroked his hair.

Every bit of him that was rooted in science and fact and biology was swept away in the face of her pronouncement. She couldn't possibly know, not this early. But she said she did. So it was true. They were having a girl.

Returning to his original thought at the time...that was not, unfortunately, the universe that waited for their child. There were no padded edges or velvet ropes. Everything was full of sharp edges and it was all open to the public come one, come all. Jump in, get hurt, skin your knee, get frightened, get stolen, get lost, get killed. Owner takes no responsibility for those who are willing to leap on this ride called "Living".

But he kept all that to himself. The arguments were irrelevant at this point and in a way he was glad to have the burden lifted. He wasn't forced to have the rational talk about how foolish this all was. It was happening and he was delighted. He was going to be a father...again.

After a moment he removed himself from her lap and began to pepper her with question after question about what she knew, what she needed, what she wanted, what he could do.

She laughed and said, "Nothing at the moment, Sweetie, except, perhaps another cup of tea."

As the months went on he limited their trips and increased his affection towards her. It was as if a dam had broken. And relatively speaking for him, he held very little back. He touched her as he'd always wanted to, held her, doted on her and dared to imagine their life together. What if he could change the future? What if he could unwrite it all? Library be damned.

"Amy and Rory are grandparents." She'd said sadly one night her hand on her belly. "They'll never know."

He didn't know how to answer that so he didn't. He pretended like he didn't remember them. Not just them, everyone who had come before. Yes,

Yes, everyone. Neuro blocker, indeed.

But it was harder to forget the Ponds nowadays.

River was 100% River...except when she teased him like Amy or frowned like Rory or made him laugh or sigh with consternation the way both of them had a tendency to do so many years ago. Odd that it was so easy to see her parents in her now that they were no longer in his life and she was.

He liked having a pregnant wife, loved watching her grow with life inside her. But more than that he loved seeing her flourish and relax and smile. There were no dark clouds hanging over their heads...save the one. But on the best of days he could put even that behind him and pretend it away.

He loved a life without spoilers and he loved a life with River Song.

* * *

When her waters broke and the pains began it was back to the TARDIS and the hospital he'd taken her to so, so many years ago. The Sisters of the Infinite Schism rushed them both to delivery and he was there as he hadn't been for the birth of his other children. He was there from the first push to the last. He was there for the first cry. He was there to watch his wife cradle the daughter she had long ago predicted.

Karn was as close as he was willing to get to Gallifrey. But he couldn't imagine doing this on Darillum or some other nameless planet or even in the TARDIS. This was as close to right as things could be.

As it turned out he didn't need to hunt for the robes after all. Ohila provided them with all they needed upon arrival. Somehow...she'd predicted this. There was an altar prepared according to all the rights and rituals needed. And there, a mere 4 billion light years away from his home he stood with his wife and daughter. And River spoke her name. And he spoke his. And they both bequeathed one to their child. And ah...there were those tears again. Traveling resumed when she was four and a sturdy, wickedly smart toddler. Easy places, kind places, gentle places. For the first

Traveling resumed when she was four and a sturdy, wickedly smart toddler. Easy places, kind places, gentle places. For the first time, he scouted ahead. For the first time he cloaked their double heartbeats. Anything to make the two girls in his life that much less interesting to outsiders.

He dared to let them venture out farther with each passing year but always brought them back to Darillium, which besides the Tardis was the only home she'd ever known.

His adventure had morphed into something different; watching his wife mother and teach and scold and comfort.

He thought he'd be the disciplinarian. He was in fact, as River called him, a soft touch.

He thought she'd be the over-protective one. But it was he who was reluctant to let her play with the other children, to stray too far, climb too high. It was so against his nature, or so he thought, but there were so many faces, so many years and so many losses that had come between this child and the ones he'd had before. Had it not been for River, all he would have known how to be with her was cautious. Perhaps suffocatingly so. But it was the gentle nudging of his wife; "Let her breathe. Let her explore. Let her go." that almost always won him over.

These were their salad days. For once the ordinary wasn't too taxing or stressful and it didn't grate on him. It only felt right.

"I never dared to hope for this." She said late one night in bed.

"Not I." He responded.

"I thought he was my Doctor."

"So did he." A pause. "He was. I am. We are."

"She's so much like you."

"I wish I could take all the credit. But not even close."

"I love you."

"I love you. Now stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop saying goodbye by degrees. There's years yet until the sun comes up. Now write in your diary."

"Why?"

"Because today was a good day. And it's worth remembering."

There were so many good days. Days of being called Dad or Sweetie or Doctor with that cheeky lilt. Days where he got to learn about all his wife's adventures, some of her secrets and more than a few of her fears. The mystery of this woman has intrigued him for centuries but he found in these quiet and not so quiet times the woman herself was far more interesting. Every day he learned to love her more, and the love he'd felt the day before seemed superficial by comparison. Every day he learned to grow a bit more towards her the way a plant reached and stretched and unfurled towards the sunlight.

How the ordinary used to pain and drag and sometimes even wound. He, of course, conceded that "ordinary" was a relative term. But no matter the definition, ordinary was now a balm, a much-needed salve, a welcome respite of they three; husband and wife and child.

* * *

It was only supposed to be a pitstop and a chance for all three of them to look on Gallifrey again without actually setting foot there. He'd been nervous the first time and was even more so now. A halfling and a quarterling this close to the Time Lords. He didn't like it at all.

But still, at his girls encouragement, they came to Karn. Their daughter was immediately enraptured. She disappeared with one of the young sisters as River and he spoke with Ohila. He didn't think much about it...he should have.

When they were back on the TARDIS hours later it was all she could talk about and both he and River indulged her. She was all of nine and he adored her enthusiasm and later he took her to the ship's library as she had been aching to know more about her people, his people, their people. He set her down with a history book and knowing how she valued her reading time left her alone promising to fill in any gaps or answer any questions later.

The years passed as they did, happy years, exciting years, years where he forgot about debts owed, prices to be paid and an endless night on a planet that was still ticking away.

He rarely, if ever, spent a day where he was not holding onto to both of their hands. He rarely, if ever, had a night where he didn't bid their daughter sweet dreams. He rarely, if ever, had a night he didn't end next to singular serenity that was River Song.

He knew he couldn't hold onto them both forever but he didn't know which he'd lose first. As it turned out, it was the one he least expected.

"I want to go to Karn. I want to study with the Sisters. Ohila said there was a place for me." Their daughter stated one day. Her chin was raised defiantly, prepared for a fight. And a fight she got.

He argued. He raged. Why? Why? Why would she want to cloister herself away with a bunch of humorless adherents who worship a Clipper.

"Because I like it there, Dad. Because I want to find a place in this world. Because you're so...careful!" She said with exasperation.

It was at that point that River laughed and they both looked at her bewildered.

"I'm sorry, I've just-" She began but another fit of giggles overtook her before she could finish. "..never heard anyone refer to the Doctor as careful before."

"Is this you helping?" He asked. "Have you not heard what your daughter just said. She wants to enter the nunnery."

"I heard...and I think we should listen to her. The least we owe her is to hear her out."

He balked and groused but, in the end, he did sit and listen to an impassioned speech by a young girl who to his delight was so like her mother and to his horror was too much like him. At the end of it, they sent her off so they could discuss it.

"She'd be a few billion light years away from Gallifrey. That's practically a stones throw."

"She'd be hiding in plain sight. There's almost nowhere safer."

"Yes, almost. The safest place it with us."

"Is it? Is it really?" River sighed heavily. "If there's one thing I know for sure about that girl, our daughter, it's if we don't let her go she will run. She will run fast and she will run far. Is that what you want?"

"Karn is a wasteland. She'll never see anything, experience anything."

"Sweetie, I do believe you're arguing out of both sides of your mouth. On one hand it's too dangerous for her to go there but on the other not nearly enough excitement."

"I can argue out of anywhere I like." He said petulantly.

"What you do here now, Doctor, matters." She began seriously. "What you say to her in these moments, how you leave her, how you let her go, it will all always matter. It can't be undone or rewritten. You don't get a dress rehearsal with children. This is real and final."

He heard what she was saying without her saying it. He would need to know these things. How do deal with his daughter without sending her to the far-flung corners of the universe just to escape him. He would need to know this because she, River, wouldn't always be here to translate, to mend fences, to soothe and repair. River wouldn't always be there. He tried to never let that thought creep in because it warped and darkened everything. Fighting back against it now wasn't easy but he did his best and as he came out of the fog he realized she was right.

"I hate letting go in an effort to hold on." He grumbled.

"I know you do." She said with a smile as she patted his cheek.

"How badly will you miss her?" He asked.

"It will rend me." She said simply. "You?"

"It will break me, the same as it always does when I let go of my children." He replied quietly. He'd spoken about them to her. He'd uttered their names to her. Names were so important, so powerful and when he spoke them aloud it was like a conjuring, a siren call that brought them back to him with painful clarity. He had never believed it before, but his River, his wife brought meaning to the phrase, a burden shared is a burden lightened. And gradually over their years together as he mentioned them more and more the sharp ache of their memory dulled just a bit. Another gift she brought. Another he did his best to try and unselfishly return. He wanted to lighten her burden as well. "But..." He continued. "We'll share it together."

When they returned to Karn, delighted daughter in tow he took the child aside.

"Be sure to say goodbye to your mother."

"Of course, Dad."

"No... That's not what I mean." How to say it? How to tell her without telling her? How not to arouse suspicion? He didn't know for sure when they'd see her again. There weren't that many years left and if this was the last... "I've had a nasty habit all my life. I've been very flippant when it comes to goodbye. You can't be greedy with farewells. Each one may be the last one."

"I'm coming back!" She protested. "You'll see me again."

"I know that." He assured her. "We both do. But take this lesson to heart, when you say goodbye to someone make sure you tell them all that you want to say. Everything in your hearts. Never leave someone to wonder how you feel. Alright?"

"Alright, Dad. I'll start with you."

He hadn't expected that. Hadn't even included himself in this.

"I love you and traveling with you and mum has been an amazing adventure. Don't think of this as a stop, just a pause. The TARDIS is home and it always will be. And I know you both will always be here. So don't worry about me. Just take care of Mum and I'll be back before you know it, ok?"

"Ok." He said once he was able to navigate around the lump in his throat.

He watched as she dashed over to River. Watched as his wife was similarly affected. Watched as they embraced fully.

"If anything happens, if she needs help, if they...whoever "they" might be, find her, if she wants us, if she scrapes her knee, or gets a papercut, if she has a sandwich that disagrees with her, if a war breaks out, if Gallifrey moves even a fraction of an inch closer in orbit, send for me." He said to Ohila quietly.

"You wear fatherhood well. But then you always did." She smiled in reply. "Leave us now. She will be safe here."

And so they left. And where there were once three there were now only two again. While they didn't fill the space their child had left they didn't allow it to come between them either.

* * *

Why are the happy years so harder to recount that the sad ones? Who do the joyful days all blend together in a pleasant blur while every dark hour can be marked off in horrible detail? His only solace was that it was true for every creature in the universe. But none of that changed the fact that they were happy years.

They fought in no less than 48 battles and 3 civil wars side by side, they attended the wedding of Emperor Ludens Nimrod Kendrick Cord Longstaff XLI, and they danced the final waltz before the ritual destruction of the Gilded Ballroom of the 110th Zann dynasty which had stood for 8000 years. They made memories upon memories upon memories and still it wasn't enough. His life was all brightness with her and he wanted Darillum to stay dark forever.

But it couldn't. And one day he heard the unmistakable sounds of the tents being erected, the sound of vehicles as they barreled into town with decorations and food and all manner of things for the celebration of the first sunrise in 24 years. It was one of the most wretched sounds he had ever heard.

"I'll not have you getting all sullen on me." She'd said as she'd bustled into the console room. "It won't do."

"I'm not sullen."

"You regenerated sullen and I've spent many years trying to shake you out of it. You won't undo all my work. Now come on."

"Where?" He grumbled.

River turned to meet his eyes and he saw the sadness in hers, how it clouded around the corners how she tried to blink it away with her lashes. But it was there just the same.

"To town. I won't have you turn the coming dawn into an enemy. To turn a phrase on its ear; you've loved the sky to fiercely to be fearful of the day."

And so he went with her, hand in hand as he always did. There were still a few more days of darkness, a few more days for him to decide what he could do, if anything.

He found it bitterly ironic that given enough years he could come up with a plan to say his entire planet and the billions of people on it. But he couldn't think of one way to save a single woman that he desperately loved.

The particular sword of Damocles arrived by way of psychic paper. She was needed, it said. For a few jobs. Short ones, interesting, can't miss, big finds. The Caverns of the Icles. The Vanishing City of Marphip. The famed and silent Lux Library. Was she available, the message asked? Could she come as soon as the next few days, perhaps?

"A bit more innocuous sounding than I imagined." She said brightly and he could hear the relief in her voice. Two of these I've always wanted to see! I haven't heard about the Library though. I'll do some research on the fly."

He gave her full access to the TARDIS research files. The ship, no matter how much she wanted to and he could feel that she did, would never tell her anything to compromise the future. She agreed to the expeditions not long after and the stage was set.

* * *

"Just in case...I want to see her again." She told him late one evening, her body curled against his in bed.

So they returned to Karn. It wasn't the first time since dropping her off. It wouldn't be his last. They had a perfectly lovely time and he couldn't help but focus on how much their daughter had grown and grown to look like her mother.

He tried to avoid speaking with Ohila which was, of course, impossible.

"Why now?" She asked him.

"Because she wished it. She wanted to see her child again." He answered simply. "So did I."

"You've always been a dismal liar. How you gallivant around the universe with the storied reputation you do when you've got the skills of a toddler escapes me."

"Family outing. Nothing more." He concluded and she, surprisingly, let things lie.

River, consummate actress that she was, never let anything slip, never betrayed her feelings and he watched her intently for a sign. Only once, when their child turned away to reach for some object to elucidate some tale she was telling did River let her face fall. Drinking her in, drinking this last.

It was over far too quickly but what would have been enough?

"Tell your mother goodbye." He whispered to her as they embraced. "And make it a good one."

"Of course." She replied. "What's wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong. It's just she was so looking forward to this visit. Give her something to remember, always."

She looked at him doubtfully but nodded.

"I hate when you lie to me." She said turning on her heel and heading over to her mother. Still, she did as he asked, a long hug, silent and he hoped as satisfying as possible.

* * *

He didn't know how to react around tears, but he'd gotten better in these years with River. He'd gotten better at a lot of things. And once they'd left Karn he held her as the TARDIS drifted.

It was the only time he'd ever seen her cry. He supposed the only time he ever would.

They returned to Darillium and any time he tried to speak about a hint of a glimmer of a plan she stopped him.

"I'm a thread, Doctor. You pull me and it all unravels. Mum. Dad. Mels. You. The universe as we know it. We just have to see how this one plays out. No shortcuts. No opt-outs."

When they had one full day or darkness left he was beside himself.

When they had one full day of twilight remaining he excused himself so he could hide in the recesses of the TARDIS and weep unseen.

Finally, it was time.

"How do we do this?" She asked him quietly after having told him, "No tears.", after she'd given him the only goodbye he'd accept.

"We sit down here on the ground and we watch the sunrise and once it comes...you leave."

She nodded and he felt relief. He was harsh, after all, too many sharp pointy edges, he was the perpetual bad cop. Sometimes his plans were met with bewilderment or hurt or anger. But this one seemed to have hit the spot and he was glad for it. Perhaps it wouldn't break his hearts as much as he imagined. Perhaps he had prepared himself.

They seated themselves on the ground; she in front and he behind. He pulled her between his legs resting his chin on her shoulder. The world was already turning a purplish blue about them, he could almost see her face.

"There's a planet called GU Piscium b-" He began.

"Lovely name."

"I always thought so. In any case, it's located in the constellation Pisces and it takes 163,000 years just to make one orbit around its sun."

"That is one very long day." She said softly.

"Mmmhmm...it might have been half as much time as I'd have needed with you. I should have taken you there."

She was silent but he felt her lean her full weight upon him. He searched his mind and realized she had never done that before. Never rested like that, never trusted him to support her. Not even once. Another victory come too late.

They continued on for a bit in the gloaming as the world grew rosier. Dawn was covering everything in its blush.

"You'll look after her." She said suddenly and it was both a plea and a command.

"Of course."

"And you'll think before you speak. She's just a girl. She'll need you, she'll need you so much so don't you dare run her off. You do have a way of...destroying young girls. I know you don't mean to..."

"No, you're right. I do. I won't push her away."

"I don't care how many faces you trade." She continued, her voice quavering. "She will always be your daughter and first priority. You look after Amelia."

"I swear to you. I will keep our daughter safe."

She nodded in reply and sniffled.

"So, I'll never see you again?"

"I never said that." He answered and it occurred to him, this was the moment. He needed to complete the circle. "You've got the psychic paper. In fact, if you need me, just call for me like always. I promise I'll be there. With a kiss."

"I'm finding it very hard to be grateful right now." She said and he hadn't heard her sound so young in a very long time. And she was young, still so young, not very far past 200. Still a child, still fighting the universe and demanding it bend. Lessons taught by two stubborn parents and him of course. "It was never enough time. It's never been linear or fair or enough."

"I know, I know, Melody." He said using the name her never did. "I love you. I'm sorry I ever gave you cause to doubt."

The words tumbled easily from his mouth now. His throat no longer choked them off, his tongue no longer knotted. Though he suspected that her death, this death, her final death, with the one exception of Amelia, might rip the words from his vocabulary altogether.

"I love you too."

As the sun touched the horizon he was tempted to allow himself to indulge, to trace and track back through all the years. Their first meeting, Stormcage, their adventures, the triumphs and losses. But he didn't. He stayed in the moment. The moment where the breeze lifted her hair. The moment where he kissed her cheek and felt her sigh against him. The moment where he could feel her two hearts beating in time with his two hearts. All he wanted in this moment was the privilege of orbiting around her forever, for this moment to never end. He had finally figured it out; how to love without fear, how to love without mourning.

Stupid enough. Sentimental enough. In love enough.

If he was truly the sunset, the monolith, then he was admiring her back.

"I don't regret it. Not any of it." She said.

"Me neither."

The sun was slowly creeping up the length of the towers, warming the world and their faces with it.

"Happy ever after, Doctor."

"Happy ever after, River."

There was a surge of bright light as the sun reached it's dawning height, clearing the towers and shining unimpeded for the first time. He blinked against it, adjusting his gaze.

'That was-" He began but was cut off by the crackle of energy and the feeling of his arms, suddenly empty. "Beautiful." He finished.

She was gone.

And there he sat, silly old Doctor who'd been foolish enough to believe he'd prepared for the moment.

He stood up from the ground, his vision blurry with unshed tears.

He shook out his coat and dusted himself off before heading towards the TARDIS.

He opened the door just as the breeze carried the sounds of a great and uproarious chorus of shouting from the city proper.

The sun had risen. It was a new day on Darillium.

And the towers had begun to sing.


End file.
